


Disdain Should Die (PG-13 version)

by the_crown_jules



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_crown_jules/pseuds/the_crown_jules
Summary: Draco can’t believe a simple night at the theatre in Vancouver is being overshadowed by the unexpected presence of Harry Potter. What on earth is he doing there? And when did he get so fit? Their animosity may have cooled to a simmer since their school days but a different sort of sparks fly after drinks in a local wizarding bar… Auror Potter, potioneer Draco, some Shakespeare, all steamy.(Modified from original explicit version)





	Disdain Should Die (PG-13 version)

**Author's Note:**

> Some of my dear friends prefer a little more left to the imagination, so I am creating PG-13 versions of all my NC-17 level works, judiciously employing the “tasteful fade to black” strategy.
> 
> If you’d like to read the original explicit version, it’s here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16296845 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to these characters developed by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and Bloomsbury.

**I.**

Grey eyes met green, and widened in disbelief. It couldn’t possibly be him. Maybe a pretender. There had been a celebrity polyjuice incident a few years back, and although the resulting regulations came with hefty fines, there were still a few people who thought it worth the risk. But when the green eyes narrowed in recognition and filled with loathing, Draco had to acknowledge the truth. Only the real Harry Potter would look back at him with that expression. This raised more questions than it answered, starting with: what on earth was Potter doing in Vancouver? At the theatre, of all places? And when did he get so _fit?_

…………...

Although Harry’s work as an auror meant frequent travel, he had never really lost the sense of homesickness he had experienced the first time he left Britain. When he moved from field work to a supervisory position, he thought the travel demands would lessen, but guessed maybe he should have asked someone about that before accepting the promotion. He felt like he spent half his life on the road now, consulting with other magical law enforcement agencies, running rookie training programs, serving as a guest speaker...and helping with recruitment efforts (he may resent his celebrity status, but he knew it gave him influence). To counteract his sadness on the road, he had developed ways to find places that felt like home no matter where he traveled. Sometimes these places were local magical spots, but he still didn’t feel all that comfortable with the attention he still got traveling solo as his perpetually famous self; he usually wore a glamour around other wizards, which made it hard to actually get to know anyone. As a result, he preferred muggle reminders of home. Pubs and castles were obvious favorites, as was anywhere he was more likely to hear familiar accents. This last box had been harder to check on this visit to Vancouver, and there was one confusing evening the previous week where he’d ended up at karaoke night at an Aussie expat bar. It was also this last box that led him to his current activity, which anyone who knew him back in his school days might find surprising — not that he had any expectation of running into former Hogwarts students at the Bard on the Beach production of Much Ado About Nothing. Hermione had always been the bookish one, and he didn’t really know anything about the classic play. He just knew he wanted to hear English spoken properly and warm himself for a couple of hours in that feeling of comfort.

Perhaps it was this background hope that filled him mostly with surprise rather than the expected hatred when he locked eyes with Draco Malfoy across the theatre. He waited for the negative feeling to uncoil, but the years since the war and his knowledge of Malfoy’s behavior at the end seemed to have changed something in his estimation of the man. The grey eyes met his with clarity and curiosity, and Harry couldn’t help but notice they were set in an incredibly handsome face. The sharp, scornful lines he remembered seemed softened, and the high cheekbones, straight nose and carefully styled platinum hair looked as distinguished as they did elitist. _Merlin,_ thought Harry, _how homesick_ am _I to be considering the beauty of Draco bloody Malfoy?_ He narrowed his eyes and carefully schooled his features into the look of utter loathing that was all the sodding prat deserved from him.

……………

 _Did Potter wander in here by accident?_ Draco wondered if Harry knew he was sitting in the audience for a Shakespeare play. Harry had never struck him as the intellectual type -- although, to be fair, he knew Harry had never really been able to give his full attention to being a student with everything else going on. _To be fair?_ Draco thought, disgusted with himself. _Why should he be_ fair _to Potter, The Chosen Git?_ The rest of the wizarding world did plenty of fawning without Draco joining in. Draco smirked with satisfaction when he saw that Potter’s seat was terrible, towards the back and off to the side of the main stage. _No special treatment here_ , he thought smugly. After several years of regular research trips to Vancouver, Draco was a major donor to the festival that had welcomed him on his first visit, and a season ticket holder for the best seats in the house -- the second seat usually going to a colleague or a potions industry client he was trying to woo. Tonight he was alone, and _thank Salazar_. The last thing he needed was for his professional life to be overshadowed by old animosity. Well, more than it already was, he reasoned. Potter’s testimony on behalf of him and his mother after the war had convinced many in the wizarding world that Draco had largely been a victim, but not everyone was keen to let him walk away from his Death Eater past. His stellar reputation as a potioneer had been forged carefully, tenaciously, and with none of the hand-outs a Malfoy would have experienced in a different political climate. He had studiously avoided seeing Potter in the four years since the trial that had returned his father to Azkaban. Nothing could be gained by intentionally opening old wounds then -- or now. He refused to be pushed out of his own seat in what he had come to think of as his theatre, though. It was clear that Potter was the interloper tonight and Draco’s pride wouldn’t let him show his discomfort. He met Potter’s glowering look with a trademark sarcastic smirk before devoting his attention to the playbill until the lights dimmed and the actors took the stage.

……………

Harry felt a smug satisfaction as the play began. It seemed to be a strangely perfect fit for the animosity he imagined he could feel crackling from Malfoy’s seat, as the same animosity was crackling between the two protagonists onstage. A man and a woman stood leaning on opposite sides of the proscenium, their casual postures belied by the barbed words they slung.

“What, my dear Lady Disdain,” said the man. “Are you yet living?”

“Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signor Benedick?” the woman replied, acidly.

 _Nice one,_ Harry thought, and almost snorted before he remembered the audience around him. He settled back in his seat to watch the battle of wits. This was going to be good.

By intermission, he was feeling a little less smug. It seemed that the two characters initially locked in the type of taunting battle he associated with himself and Malfoy were, in actuality, in love.

……………

**II.**

Draco hadn’t been able to help himself. The theatre wasn’t very large so despite the difference in their seat quality he had a reasonably good view of Potter, and threw a stray glance his way shortly after the play began. He honestly had no idea what had happened in the play from that moment on, not that the plot was unfamiliar to him with his formal upbringing at Malfoy Manor. It was immediately clear, however, that it was entirely new to Potter, and watching the genuine reactions flash across his face was intoxicating. Potter’s green eyes sparkled with laughter, and his relaxed posture showed off his broad shoulders and muscular legs to unwittingly devastating effect. Malfoy noticed that at some point he had learned how to dress properly. The grey trousers looked made for him, and his dark green v-neck sweater lightly highlighted the outlines of the fine body underneath. Auror training had been good for him. Potter was obviously utterly captivated by the play, and so swept away that he never noticed that Draco was utterly captivated by Potter. Despite Draco’s earlier determination to ignore him completely, he found himself scanning the crowd under the stars and the white tents at intermission, looking for that unruly dark hair. He was so engrossed in this activity that he jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, and spun around, automatically reaching into his jacket for his wand.

Potter held up his hands, showing he was armed only with a glass of wine, and laughed. The low, husky chuckle made something happen to Draco’s blood flow. “Old habits die hard, Malfoy?” His tone was slightly mocking, but there was no malice in his eyes.

Malfoy relaxed and bravely attempted a sneer. “Hexing you was always one of my favorite pastimes.”

“I don’t recall you having much time for things other than preening your hair and being a prat,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s eyes twinkled. This was the Potter he remembered. “Tell me more about my hair,” he replied.

Potter snorted. “Wine?” he said instead, indicating the concessions counter with his glass.

“You are honestly asking me if I want wine from a muggle concessions counter, likely also from a box?” Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting swill. I have made my own arrangements.”

A man in a suit approached them with a glass of champagne in a gloved hand. He proffered it to Malfoy with a small bow, and Malfoy toasted Harry’s incredulous gaze.

“I’m a patron,” Malfoy said smugly. “The Veuve Cliquot comes with the best seat in the house.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I saw you have an empty seat next to you. Don’t want to get contaminated by the muggle scum nearby?”

“If you must know, Potter,” replied Malfoy, “I keep a second seat for when I need to impress a client or treat a colleague. Not all of us can get by on charisma alone, _O Golden Boy_.”

He noticed a faint (and very appealing) flush on Potter’s cheeks at his suggestion of charisma, and somewhat recklessly decided to press his luck.

“I’d say you should come see what it’s like to see theatre from the proper vantage point for the second half, but someone might see us together and get the wrong idea.”

“Quite true,” said Potter. “A photo of us together at a play that is clearly a romantic comedy would probably cause the Daily Prophet to combust.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Might be worth it for that.”

“Then let’s give them something to talk about,” Malfoy heard himself say.

He thought he probably looked as thunderstruck at this pronouncement as Potter did. When Potter said nothing, he went on tauntingly.

“Or are you scared, Potter? I wasn’t aware you’d sorted Hufflepuff.”

“Alright fine,” Potter said. “But I want the whole experience. Get me a glass of the good stuff.”

……………

Harry wasn’t sure the second glass of wine had been a good idea. He was incredibly aware of Malfoy’s lean, elegant body seated next to him, and the occasional moments their knees brushed seemed to be making him very warm. He shifted awkwardly, which only made their knees bump again. Malfoy looked over at him inquiringly but Harry made sure his eyes were riveted on the stage. He was interested in the play and wanted to see how it ended, but the way his thoughts were going he thought he might need to look it up later. Malfoy even smelled good. Not of cologne or anything overpowering, just something clean and pleasant, like the crisp white button-down he was wearing with the cleft of his collarbone showing tantalizingly, or freshly laundered sheets…. _Oh Godric,_ Harry thought, _now I’m thinking about sheets...and bed…._ Harry wondered what that platinum blond hair would look like disheveled on a pillow, all too similar to some dreams he had had at school, which he had always tried not to think too much about. He put the brakes on that train of thought with a certain amount of horror. This was _Malfoy_ , his enemy since the moment they had locked eyes on each other. There wasn’t anyone in the world less suitable for him to be interested in. Harry didn’t even know why he would possibly think Malfoy might be gay. _Not that that would matter,_ he chastised himself, _because he’s the world’s biggest prat._ He recommitted to watching the play, although he was pretty lost by this point. He just tried to laugh when other people did, and tried to ignore the flip flop his heart seemed to make when he heard Malfoy laugh next to him. _If I know what’s good for me,_ Harry thought, _I’ll leave the second this play ends._

Apparently he didn’t know what was good for him. As the audience clapped and began gathering their things to go, Harry heard himself say to Malfoy, “So, what are you doing after this?”

……………

**III.**

Honestly, Draco had been planning on taking a long (potentially cold) shower, reading his book, and going to bed. Despite the Slytherin reputation, he had never been a hard partier and rarely went out in the evening to bars or clubs, although the Vancouver scene was reasonably good. He had definitely assumed that he and Potter would part ways after the show and ideally never see each other again. Apparently the Gryffindor had other ideas. What was this, some sort of noble guilt from Potter? Draco wanted no one’s pity, and his inclination to mistrust Potter was rooted in years of cutting remarks and hallway battles. But even then, Draco could admit grudgingly, there had been times when Potter seemed to try to reach out to him, only to be met with Draco’s unyielding scorn. Maybe this time could be different, and they could part on good terms. A small part of him considered that there might be more than that, but he rejected it. Any signals he thought he had gotten this evening were wishful thinking. Surely Potter was married to that Weasley chit by now. And still, Draco took a deep breath and said, “I do have a favorite bar. Want to get a drink?”

……………

Malfoy knew the bouncer, of course. As they walked up to the unremarkable brown door marked only with a green light outside, the bouncer smiled warmly.

“Monsieur Malfoy,” he said. “Always a pleasure. The usual table for you and your associate?”

“My...old friend, actually,” Malfoy said tentatively, briefly searching Harry’s face but finding no disapproval there. “Merci, Remy.”

Inside the door, Malfoy chatted in a familiar way in rapid French with the hostess as she led them down a spiral staircase topped with a magnificent chandelier. Harry was starting to feel a little out of his league. The small lounge was like the inside of an art deco jewel box, with inlaid geometric ceilings, cozy leather and velvet furnishings in a welcoming shade of blue-green, with brass accents and shining black stone. It was hopelessly sexy and so very Malfoy he wondered offhand if Malfoy owned it.

The hostess showed them to a small round table tucked away in a private corner, where they could easily talk away from the live music, although the live music was itself quite notable. Harry had been seated with his back to the stage and he turned to look behind him and see what was going on. A willowy blonde was singing, her voice ethereal, while a DJ next to her seemingly mixed the accompanying track live. It was quite a trick.

“I didn’t know muggles had figured out how to do that,” Harry remarked with raised eyebrows.

“They have, technically” Malfoy replied, “but it’s easier to do with magic. This bar is run by wizards.”

Harry felt a flash of unease. There were a few wizarding establishments that catered to muggles as well, but there were risks. His concern must have showed on his face.

“Don’t worry,” Malfoy scoffed. “No one is going to mob you for autographs while you’re with me, I’m too _scary_. Besides, all these people are muggles.”

“Exactly the problem,” Harry said, not bothering to correct either Malfoy’s partially-correct assumption that Harry didn’t want to be identified or the public perception of Malfoy as scary. “If all these people are muggles in a magical bar, isn’t that a huge risk of the Statute of Secrecy?”

Malfoy groaned. “You are _such_ an auror, _Merlin,_  Potter, have a little fun.”

Harry glared.

“Fine,” said Malfoy. “If it makes you feel better, they are very careful. They only use magic for the music and to keep it tidy… and, of course, to make the drinks a little more exciting.” He gestured at the menu.

Harry saw that the drinks were named with descriptors. A negroni was named “Creative,” while a cocktail topped with jasmine and ginger honey foam was rightly called “Eccentric.” A note caught his eye.

“Are we in the Hotel Georgia?” Harry asked, pointing to the name on the menu.

“It’s upstairs,” Malfoy said neutrally.

A light tingle of something like anticipation ran through Harry, but he pushed it away and returned to perusing his drink options. He could guess what the magic would be -- a small bit of a related potion that would make it easier for the consumer to engage with that part of themselves. The cocktail called “fortunate” was fairly expensive and he wondered if the owners would be brazen enough to put a little _Felix Felicis_ in it. He said as much to Malfoy, who chuckled.

“Oh no, Maizie’s too cheap for that. We decided that feeling ‘fortunate’ had a lot to do with a feeling of contentment, so that one has just a little bit of calming draught in it.”

“We?” said Harry, with raised eyebrows.

“Yes,” said Malfoy, the pride clear in his voice. “This menu was one of my first professional consultations.”

He ordered them both a cocktail called “Sociable,” and went on to explain how he had been working as a potioneer, earning his mastery two years ago through some productive collaborations with North American wizards, starting with the new Hogwarts Potions teacher. Harry was aware that Hogwarts had hired a witch trained at Ilvermorny (much of the remaining adult wizarding community in Britain being focused on restoring order after the war), but he had no idea American witches and wizards had a different approach to magic. Apparently in the Pacific Northwest in particular, potion-making was quite unique, with an almost fanatical commitment to growing and distilling their own ingredients.

“Muggles are sometimes getting more than they bargain for at the farmer’s market,” Malfoy said with a wink.

Malfoy practically lit up when he started to talk about the earth magic that was a hallmark of witches and wizards brought up in the First Nations communities. A First Nations wizard taught at one of the local muggle universities, and a letter from Draco when he was doing research for his mastery led to his now multi-year status as a scholar-in-residence during Vancouver summers, “the only time of year everyone is jealous of this climate.” _That explains how he found time to become the patron of an arts festival and help start a magical bar,_ thought Harry. As Malfoy was explaining how they had figured out how to make each drink’s effects short-term enough that patrons could enjoy the subtle effects of several different moods in the course of an evening, Harry reflected on how interesting potions were when Malfoy talked about them -- far more so than in school, which had been all lists of ingredients and very little theory. Harry hadn’t known Malfoy had a genuine interest in potions. He had always assumed it was a facade for sucking up to Snape. He had to admit to himself that hearing Malfoy talk with such obvious passion about something was intoxicating. Although maybe that was the light influence of the “Sociable” talking. It was nearly to its time limit, but hadn’t fully worn off yet. He found himself watching Malfoy’s lips while he talked, practically basking in the deep, melodic accent that sounded of home.

Worried about this train of thought, he ordered something called “Temperate” for his next round. Without blinking, Malfoy ordered something called “Sweltering.” Harry thought maybe he was about to be in trouble.

……………

“So what is Auror Potter, _Savior of the Wizarding World_ , doing in Vancouver?” Draco asked.

He had been pleased at Potter’s interest in his potions business and surprised by the depth of questions he had asked. Draco knew the cocktails weren’t nearly strong enough to generate interest (or emotion) where there wasn’t any before. He had gotten caught up in the fun of talking to Potter, of all people, and strayed far from other important topics, like how they had come to be here together in Vancouver in the first place. And whether Potter was single. And maybe gay. _Merlin, I shouldn’t have ordered a Sweltering._

“I’m actually doing consulting work as well,” Potter replied. “The closest Auror team to Vancouver is in Seattle and they’ve been spread a little thin. They are creating a small strike team to be based permanently in Vancouver, and also looking for ways to protect local non-magic law enforcement without making their presence known.”

Draco was surprised. The Potter he knew had been more the type to kick down doors and rush in wand blazing. He wondered to himself at the change, and then wondered aloud, eliciting a somewhat sad laugh from Potter.

“Honestly, after the war I was kind of a mess,” Potter said, and paused as if he was not sure about this conversation topic. Draco wasn’t sure either, but he was curious so he smiled slightly in what he hoped was an encouraging way. Potter continued.

“You may have noticed our childhoods weren’t exactly peaceful,” he said ruefully. “Whatever capacity I had for fighting seems to have been used up in the war. Although I completed auror training easily enough. I finished top of my class.” There was a challenge in his voice.

“Of course you did, _Perfect Potter_ , I’d expect nothing less,” Malfoy said, but gently.

“Well, it turns out controlled duels in the training rooms are very different than being in the field. When I found myself in real fights, I had flashbacks, panic attacks. I was a risk to my team. But I’ve always liked training others, so now I’m in more of a ‘running things’ kind of role.”

“I’m hoping to be the head of the department eventually. Then I’ll be in a position to make real changes to how we handle law enforcement, especially with Hermione in my corner at the Ministry.”

“What types of changes?” Draco asked curiously. Potter shifted under his gaze, looking suddenly a little hesitant.

“Well,” Potter said slowly, “I have thought, for example, that Azkaban is a little extreme for many of the people who get sent there, even with the dementors removed. I’d like to create a...middle ground.” He met Draco’s eyes with intensity and Draco heard the unspoken words. Despite everything Lucius had done, Potter would have liked to help Draco’s father, who had died in the lonely prison. Draco felt like he was truly seeing the man in front of him for the first time, and he couldn’t look away. He said nothing to Potter but flagged down their waitress. He ordered both of them a “Notorious.” _Screw_   _it_ , he thought. _I think I’m serious about this._

……………

**IV.**

“Temperate” seemed to have lulled Harry a little bit into a false sense of security, and he made no protest at Malfoy’s bolder choice for their third round. Although Malfoy hadn’t said anything about Lucius, Harry knew that he had understood Harry’s regret for his family. A change had been wrought in the handsome, aquiline face across from him, a look of determination stealing into the almost heated grey eyes. As they each took their first sip of “Notorious,” Malfoy leaned forward.

“Okay Potter,” he said a little breathlessly. “Let’s get into it. Did you end up with Granger or the She-Weasel? In Slytherin we had equal odds on either.”

“Neither,” said Harry, amused by this new line of questioning. “I can’t guess how it looked from the outside, but it was always Ron for Hermione.”

“From the outside it looked like they never stopped bickering,” said Malfoy.

Harry laughed. “Well, that’s certainly still true. But they bicker because they like to. It’s all love underneath, although it took them bloody long enough to figure that out. It’s not that different from the play tonight, honestly. Sometimes couples like to spar.”

He tried not to think about how many times he had sparred with Malfoy over the years, sometimes literally. _Their relationship was different_ , he thought, although even thinking of it as a “relationship” made him feel a little hot around the ears, especially under Malfoy’s intense scrutiny.

“Not to be offensive,” said Malfoy with every indication of being offensive, “but I always thought Granger was way out of Weasel-king’s league. No challenge.”

Putting aside his surprise at Malfoy saying something complimentary about Hermione, Harry let out a chuckle. “Ron holds his own. Besides, the world challenges Hermione. She needed someone who can make her laugh.”

“Alright, that covers Granger,” said Malfoy persistently, “but during sixth-year, a person could hardly turn a corner without finding you wrapped around the She-Weasel. Well, when you weren’t following me, that is. Not that I minded so much,” and he actually winked.

Harry choked slightly on his drink. It had been a bad time to take a sip. Malfoy had hit closer to the mark than he could suspect. Or did he? Was he having him on? Harry decided there was no way. He and Ginny had parted amicably enough in the end -- she would never have told anyone (well, other than maybe Hermione and Luna) that when she broke a drunken Harry out of a confused kiss with a more-confused Seamus last year she said she should have seen the signs from the beginning when Harry spent as much time following Malfoy around as he did snogging her. Harry’s outrage at this suggestion was quickly overshadowed by Dean’s arrival, though, and the topic dropped -- Harry had not known Dean and Seamus were more than roommates, and he spent the rest of the evening repairing his friendships as his relationship finally crumbled.

He tried to cover his racing thoughts with a hasty cough, defensive alarm bells clamoring in his head. Like an unwelcome echo of their school days, he couldn’t help but hit back.

“Of course you didn’t mind, made it bloody easy for you to report to --” he broke off, quailing under Malfoy’s suddenly cold gaze. “-- your friends,” he finished quietly.

Malfoy’s eyes flashed. “I thought we established at my trial that everything I did was _in defense of my family,_ ” he said.

“And I believed you,” said Harry.

“You believed me then but not now?” Malfoy stood abruptly and reached for his coat. “If you think I’m the same person I was when I was a _teenager_ , then I don’t know what we’re doing here.”

Harry leapt to his feet, grabbing Malfoy’s arms in the same motion. Malfoy stiffened but didn’t try to reach for his wand. Harry found this encouraging, even as he was momentarily distracted by the feel of Malfoy’s arms under his hands. “Wait, please wait,” Harry said as his brain scrambled for words, trying to steer the conversation back to the civility he suddenly craved.

“You can’t pretend like it’s not surprising for us to be getting along. We used to… well I’m not sure we used to hate each other exactly, but we certainly thought we did. I didn’t want to talk about our sixth year so I came at you, I’m sorry.”

“Did you just...apologize to me?” Draco’s outrage had been replaced with shock.

“Yes,” said Harry, meeting Draco’s eyes with some defiance. He realized he was still holding Malfoy’s arms and slowly released them, a little unwillingly.

Draco sat again, but folded into a defensive posture. “There’s more enjoyable ways to come at me, you know,” he said under his breath.

“Okay, so I…, wait, what?” _had Harry heard him correctly?_

“You were about to tell me why you are not currently producing more Weasleys in the throes of matrimonial bliss,” Draco said with an air of indifference.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to figure out how to explain this part of his past. He settled on the truth -- or part of it. His drunken solicitation of Seamus had merely been the final fault line in something that honestly hadn’t been working for awhile.

“I believe that you’ve changed, because I know I have. The war changed me in ways that Ginny couldn’t understand,” Harry finally said. “When I left her behind to figure out how to….defeat...Voldemort, I knew I was taking a path she couldn’t follow. That I didn’t let her follow.”

“A lot happened to both of us that year, but separately. We were fighting different battles and we grew apart.”

Harry intentionally left his description of the year they spent hunting Horcruxes vague. He had never even told anyone in The Order what they had done in explicit terms -- Hermione had thought, and he agreed, that the less anyone knew about Horcruxes the better. But he had told Ginny everything, because he felt like he owed her that much. He would never forget the shuttered look in her eyes when he told her he had willingly walked to his death. He noticed Malfoy watching him very carefully and wondered what had shown on his face as he processed that memory. Malfoy didn’t interrupt him, however, and Harry felt the expectation to continue.

“Honestly, even though I was with Ron and Hermione that year, I grew apart from them too. I think that’s part of what finally brought them together, actually. The shared experience of managing me.” He smiled slightly, thinking back to how Ron had stepped up when Harry had been nearly useless, consumed with longing for the Deathly Hallows.

“After the war, Ginny and I tried to get back what we had before, but there was just too much distance,” he finished, a little lamely.

Harry decided he had said quite enough about the war for one evening and stopped there, waiting for Malfoy’s response. It didn’t come. Malfoy’s eyes now looked slightly unfocused, as if he were lost in his own memories. Harry felt a pang of guilt for keeping their conversation circling around this subject. He knew Malfoy’s experiences in the war were in many ways even worse than his own, and there were still nights Harry woke shouting and drenched in sweat. They had both been pawns in the sprawling plots of powerful wizards, but Harry had never felt forced to do anything. He knew Malfoy had been.

Starting to feel a little desperate, Harry tried to lighten the present mood. “Besides,” he added, with forced nonchalance, “I don’t think she was happy to find me kissing Seamus Finnigan.”

That did the trick. Malfoy’s gaze sharpened as quickly as if Harry had slapped him. For a moment he simply stared. Then a slow, almost predatory grin spread across his face. “Why Potter,” he drawled. “I never would have suspected those rumours to be true.”

……………

**V.**

Draco had been hoping discussing Potter’s dating life would steer them away from the war, but he supposed it was too much of an elephant in the room for them not to have it out. But _Merlin_ , he would have picked a calmer drink if he had known they were going to keep coming back to it. He felt somewhat mollified by Potter’s assurances that he believed Draco capable of change, and appreciated that he was keeping things vague. Although Draco had always been curious exactly what had happened leading up to The Dark Lord’s defeat, if Potter wasn’t going to talk about things in clear terms that meant he didn’t feel pressure to do so himself, which was a relief. The only person who knew everything was Pansy, who true to form had seemed to know everything already anyway. He thought he understood what Potter was saying about distance, though. Although he and Pansy had never dated (the other thing she seemed to know even before he did was his preference for blokes) she had always been his closest friend. He felt like the things he had been forced to do to protect his family made him feel a certain amount of isolation even from her. As he considered the all-too-familiar pain in the eyes of the handsome man sitting across from him, he felt a strange pang, a compulsion to reach out and touch his face, smooth the tension in his brows. He had just started to wonder if maybe Potter might be someone who would understand him in a different way, when he heard, “me kissing Seamus Finnigan.”

He snapped back into the moment, stunned. Of course, _The Daily Prophet_ printed all sorts of tripe about Potter, including suggestions about his sexual orientation, but they had also printed a rumor about an illegitimate child with Granger, so he never paid them much mind. In fact he had never stopped to consider… but now… was Potter having a laugh at him? But why? Draco had a team of litigators who made sure all press about him was strictly professional. No one but Pansy and Blaise knew he was gay. And not even they knew about the uncomfortable dreams Draco had occasionally had about Potter at school, dreams where they had not been enemies but...

He realized he was probably just staring at Potter. _Well if he is having a laugh at me,_ Draco thought, _let’s see if he’s willing to back it up._ He looked appreciatively at the gorgeous man sitting across from him, the green eyes shining with a mix of amusement and concern, the thick black hair as messy as if he had just been shagged within an inch of his life. Draco thought about shagging him, and grinned. This already surprising evening had just taken an unexpected and not unwelcome turn.

……………

Harry looked at Malfoy with some alarm. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen him genuinely smile and the change was staggering. If Malfoy had been handsome before, the flash of teeth and the wolfish look in his eyes made him almost overwhelmingly attractive. Harry remembered the feeling of their knees brushing during the play and leaned forward almost involuntarily. He felt his blood start to rush somewhere that could be problematic for him. Malfoy’s smile widened and Harry forgot to breathe. He dimly remembered that Malfoy had said something a moment ago… what was it…

He blinked rapidly and flushed. “Well if the rumors are that I’m gay,” he said in a somewhat clipped tone, “they’re true. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He grasped for the upper hand in the conversation.

“So, how many perfect pure-blood children have you and Parkinson produced, then?” He tried to sound sneering but grimaced inwardly as it came out petty and bitter. To his discomfort, Malfoy’s smile only widened.

“None,” said Malfoy. “Pansy and I live together as friends, not in sin. Honestly, do you think one person, even someone as gorgeous as I am, could keep that fabulous minx satisfied? Besides, she’s not my type.”

“What _is_ your type?” Harry felt almost betrayed by himself as the words left his mouth. He was getting hot and confused from Malfoy’s attention, and from Malfoy’s self-characterization as gorgeous, which Harry couldn’t argue with at the moment.

Malfoy put his nearly full drink down slowly on the table, and even more slowly leaned towards Harry, whose pulse was suddenly racing. His eyes flicked to Malfoy’s approaching lips but before he had to make a decision about how to respond, Malfoy stopped moving and said intently, “Tall, dark, and handsome.” He smiled again slowly, broadly, keeping eye contact with Harry.

Harry felt like his heart had stopped. His brain went into overdrive as he pieced together Malfoy’s stray comments through the evening so far. _Is Malfoy actually interested in me?_ He had never had any indication at school that Malfoy liked blokes. And yet, if he really thought about it, he had never actually seen Malfoy kiss Parkinson, or be openly affectionate with anyone.

And then the Malfoy kicker. “You know, like your Seamus Finnigan,” he leered.

 _Slytherins._  “He’s not mine,” said Harry.

“Does that mean you are available?” said Draco, looking criminally smug. _Bloody hell._

“Available for what?” said Harry, hardly believing the turn the evening was taking.

Malfoy held out his hand. “Available to dance with me.”

……………

 _I could still be wrong,_ Draco thought, _but I don’t think this is a trap._ Potter’s flushed, almost stammering response to Draco’s sudden interest seemed to be genuine, and unless he had changed entirely since their school days, Potter wore his heart on his sleeve. As they walked to the small dance floor, Potter’s large hand warm in his, Draco briefly considered if he and his former enemy had lost their minds. That was the heart of it, though -- _former_ enemy. The animosity they seemed to retain from their early days of duelling in hallways seemed to be constrained to banter now, and enjoyable banter at that. And then a conversation, their first real conversation, with the promise of camaraderie and maybe even a level of understanding Draco hadn’t known he sought. Potter had even, shockingly, apologized for something. In the center of the dance floor he stopped and looked back at Potter, whose face in the dimly glowing lights was suffused with a mix of wariness and something like longing. Draco threw caution to the wind and took Potter in his arms.

His hands felt the muscles of Potter’s back through his soft sweater, and their cheeks pressed together, meeting in a whisper of stubble. Initially, Potter held his arms straight down at his sides, but when Draco didn’t try to deepen their embrace he slowly relaxed and tentatively wrapped one around Draco’s waist, lifting the other one to run a hand down Draco’s arm, focusing on his bicep, making his pulse start to race. Draco reflected that it was good they had a slow song so they could take their time exploring this new feeling -- and so that he could have maximum contact with Potter’s amazing body. They were probably bordering on inappropriately close for a public dance floor, but they weren’t the only couple on it and he knew it was unlikely that anyone would blink at two men dancing with each other in Vancouver. He held Potter gently, not wanting to scare him off, but seemingly of its own accord one of his hands wandered up to tangle his fingers in Potter’s soft hair. As he reveled in the sensation, Potter’s hand at Draco’s back slid lower, fingers brushing Draco’s waistband and then wandering further. Draco’s breath hitched and he knew, with how close they were, that Potter had to notice the responses in his body. _Merlin, this would be the end._ If this was the last moment, he was going to be brave.

“I think I’ve wanted you forever,” he breathed in Potter’s ear. “I just wanted you to know.”

He braced himself for Potter’s flight. But to his astonishment, Potter lifted his face from where it was buried in Draco’s shoulder and the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. Draco dared to stroke his thumb along Potter’s jaw and watched his eyes flutter shut with a soft groan. And then Draco’s lips found Potter’s and the rest of the world was no more.

……………

Harry wondered how he had ever thought he wanted to do anything other than kiss Draco Malfoy. As their lips fused and Draco’s tongue slipped into Harry’s mouth, Harry felt as if all of the passion they had ever put into hating each other was pouring into their kiss. He ran his tongue against Draco’s (at some point he had started thinking of him as Draco?) who rewarded him with a moan and deepened the kiss, then pulled back only to bite and suck on Harry’s lower lip, which suddenly seemed to have a direct connection to dangerous places. He broke away abruptly, breathing heavily, and saw the glazed look of lust in Draco’s eyes mingle with concern that Harry was stopping. Harry didn’t want to stop, but he had become aware that if they didn’t change direction they would get arrested soon for public indecency. The look of vulnerability on Draco’s face made him ache. Seeking to reassure him, he wrapped his arms around him again and whispered in his ear.

“I want to see where this goes, but we should find somewhere more private. Do you know where we could go?” He was rewarded by a downright dangerous look in Draco’s silvery eyes.

“Well,” replied Draco, huskily, “my flat is actually the penthouse of this hotel.” With a quick nod to the bartender, Draco took Harry by the hand and led him upstairs. _The penthouse sounds far,_ Harry thought. _I wonder if we’ll make it or if the security guards will have some interesting elevator footage later._

……………

**VI.**

They made it to Draco’s flat, but barely. The second the elevator doors closed, Draco had pushed Harry against the wall and made his wishes very clear. His lips met Harry’s (at some point he’d become Harry?) in a crushing kiss while his hands tangled in Harry’s hair. He broke away to kiss Harry’s neck, then to bite his neck, which tore a groan from Harry that almost made Draco come undone. When the elevator dinged they staggered to the penthouse door. Draco fumbled for his key but Harry found it first, slipping his hand into Draco’s back pocket and giving his arse a squeeze before extracting the key. Draco’s hands were pulling Harry’s sweater off before the door was fully open, and his mind was racing ahead to what else he wanted to do with his mouth.

……………

The night was cool but pleasant and the view from the large private garden was stunning, but Harry could only think about how the warm light from the fireplace played across the platinum hair of the man standing wrapped in his arms. Harry held Draco gently while Draco almost absentmindedly wrapped his own hands up over Harry’s and stroked a thumb up and down his arm. _It isn’t fair for one person to be so beautiful_ , Harry thought, awed by the pale, almost marble-carved look of Draco’s torso. He had been briefly self-conscious about their nudity outside but the idea of covering Draco’s incredible body with clothes didn’t bear considering. Harry trailed one of his hands slowly south along the smooth, lightly defined muscles, almost attaining his prize before Draco caught his wrist with a chuckle.

“Already desperate for more?” he purred.

“I’m not sure if I could ever get enough,” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear. Draco’s stroking thumb paused on Harry’s arm, and the blond turned slowly in his arms to look seriously into his face.

“That’s quite a thing to say to your old enemy, Harry.” There was no hint of mockery or bravado.

Harry replied with equal weight. “I thought you’d wanted me forever, Draco.”

They stayed frozen in each other’s arms, and Harry felt a glimmer of uncertainty. They had gotten caught up in some long-suppressed passion, but how far were they going to indulge it?

Draco’s gentle kiss caught him off guard. It was tender and slow and Harry’s heart ached with the rightness of it. He responded with equal tenderness, and then slowly deepened it, gently plying Draco’s lips with his teeth and tongue until Draco’s lips parted and Harry plundered him, trying to say with his kiss what he didn’t seem to be able to say properly with words, that he wanted more, that he maybe wanted everything. Harry scattered kisses across the strong jawline and down the elegant neck. Draco hissed and pulled away, the look in his eyes was almost feral. Harry thought he saw determination there too.

“If we do this I don’t know what we’ll be,” Draco said, panting. “Something very different than friends, though, so if that’s what you’re after-”

Harry cut him off. “I don’t think we were ever going to be just friends, Draco. And I don’t want to be your enemy anymore.”

Draco only nodded briefly. His jaw was working as if he was struggling to maintain control, or regain the control he had lost under Harry’s lips. Harry couldn’t believe he could have this effect on someone usually the picture of smug arrogance. He found it heady. He stepped forward. Draco stepped back, not seeming to notice that Harry was gradually stalking him back into the suite and towards the bedroom.

……………

They fell asleep in a tangle. Once during the night, Harry awoke with a start, the weight of a forgotten nightmare pressing upon him. As he fought for breath, soothing fingers brushed across his forehead, seemingly instinctively. Harry sighed and settled into a long, dreamless sleep.

He woke hours later to weak dawn sun peeping through the cracks in heavy velvet draperies. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and then he automatically looked for Draco’s sleeping form next to him. He wasn’t there. Harry’s brief moment of panic passed, though, when he smelled bacon.

Pulling on a fluffy hotel robe he found in the closet, Harry wandered out to the living room to find Draco lounging comfortably in a white leather chair, clad only in silky-looking green pajama bottoms and looking utterly at home in the clean, modern space, surrounded by dark wood and modern art. He was reading _The Daily Prophet_ , a cup of tea in one hand. Harry had never seen anything more alluring.

“This smells amazing,” he said. “When did you go out to get it?”

“Go out when someone could bring it to me? _Merlin_ , Harry, you clearly aren’t awake yet to spew such nonsense. I ordered room service.”

Harry grinned. “Maybe you shagged the sense out of me last night,” he said as he walked over to his lover.

“Not like you had much to begin with,” Draco said acidly and then laughed at his natural rudeness. “Sorry, old habits and all that.”

“Oh tease all you want,” said Harry. “I have a much more effective way of shutting you up now.”

He leaned over the back of the chair and tangled his fingers in Draco’s soft hair, pulling harder than was strictly necessary as he tipped Draco’s head back into a kiss. The blond yelped and dropped the paper, reaching a hand up to half-heartedly defend himself, succeeding only in making his fingers available to Harry’s mouth. The cup of tea tumbled to the floor and whatever breakfast awaited them cooled as they discovered some new positions the chair, coffee table, and couch made available to them, an exploration that continued in the large shower. Finally, with wet hair and towels around their waists, they sat, completely spent, over a new order of breakfast looking at each other with some trepidation.

……………

“I finish my consulting job here in a couple of days,” Harry said, finally.

“Where are you going next?” Draco asked quietly.

“Umm, Boston,” Harry said. “They have a really interesting integrated police force with wizards serving actively in muggle law enforcement. We’re considering adopting the model in Britain.”

“You know,” Draco said carefully, “there is a wizard chemist at MIT who thinks he has three new uses for dragon blood. Pansy has been hounding me to go meet with him.”

“Pansy?” Harry said.

“She really runs the business — I’m the research and consulting arm. I, uh, travel a lot.” He watched Harry, not willing to break eye contact.

“I do too,” said Harry. Hopefully, Draco thought.

“Well, not enjoyably, if I know you,” said Draco suddenly, almost brisk. “Now we travel like this.” He gestured expansively around the penthouse. “You’re not going to catch me staying in whatever _local inns_ I assume you’ve been using.”

“Diva,” Harry said.

“Heathen,” Draco replied.

“You said ‘we’,” said Harry, something warm growing in his expression.

“Yes,” Draco said fondly. “I think it’s going to be ‘we’ from now on.”

And he kissed him.

 

THE END


End file.
